Black Holes and Revelations
by Teh Healist
Summary: My version of the events taking place between Blood Harvest and The Passing... put to the lyrics of Muse's album "Black Holes and Revelations."
1. Prologue

A/N: This is pretty long, so feel free to skip if you'd like to get straight to the story. I've had a general idea of how this story was going to flow for several months now, after I got my hands on L4D and became a zombie-killin' addict. However, upon the release of The Passing for L4D2 (which I also purchased in due time), my story, from the very first chapter, suddenly became non-canon, since they obviously didn't stay in Philadelphia after their rescue in Blood Harvest. So I was able to adapt the storyline to make it fit with canon. What I especially like about my idea was making this thing into not just one songfic, but an entire linked chain of songfics for an entire album (why no, OF COURSE I'm not a sucker for songfics, why do you ask?). I just kinda… put plots to songs all the time in my head, and began thinking about how a lot of Muse's songs from Black Holes and Revelations could fit in a L4D storyline. So I thought "AHA! A CHALLENGE!" Thus was born this.

One more thing. I'm terrible at updating regularly, which really sucks because I love writing fiction for my enjoyment (and hopefully for yours!). However, I've got basically every Wednesday free for the rest of my college quarter, so I'm hoping I'll be able to remain motivated to finish this story and not use "meh… I'm swamped with too much work" as an excuse.

~*~Prologue~*~

**Paranoia is in bloom,**

**The PR Transmissions will resume, they'll try**

**To push drugs, keep us all dumb down and hope that**

**We will never see the truth around, so come on**

"What the hell is this bullshit?" Francis asked, gesturing to the music coming from the speakers in the military APC they were riding in. Zoey shot him an acid glare.

"It's NOT bullshit. It's a band called 'Muse'. Maybe you should take some time and actually LISTEN before you start complaining about something. You know… just ONCE in a while, Francis."

The tattooed biker was slightly taken aback by Zoey's sudden, defensive outburst. The effect wore off quickly, though, and he was back to his regular grumbling self. "I hate Muse." The teenage girl just threw her hands up in a mixture of frustration and defeat. Louis looked over and gave a light chuckle. "Just give it up, Zoey. It's hopeless trying to get Francis to like something other than his shotgun and his vest."

**Another promise, another scene, another**

**Package not to keep us trapped in greed with all the**

**Green belts wrapped around our minds and endless**

**Red tape to keep the truth confined, so come on**

A bump in the road jostled the fourth passenger awake. Bill floundered for a moment, forgetting that he was in the safety of an armored vehicle, reaching for his rifle and flicking the safety off before coming to his senses. He stared around stupidly as the other three were crouched and ready to disarm him should he have started firing his weapon. "Oh… sorry about that, guys. I guess the last week has brought back some old 'Nam habits I thought I'd managed to get rid of." He sheepishly flicked the safety back on and put the rifle back in its original resting place. He looked up at the speakers with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. "What the hell is THIS noise?" Zoey looked about ready to murder someone.

**They will not force us**

**And they will stop degrading us**

**And they will not control us**

**We will be victorious, so come on**

"Bill." Zoey said in a very sweet, very patient tone. "This is not noise. This is Muse. Muse is a band, a very POPULAR band, that was active when the infection broke out. They are relatively recent. They are good. And they. Are. Not. Noise." Bill put his hands up as a sign of surrender. "Okay, okay. I don't feel like getting dismembered today, especially after avoiding it for a goddamn week of madness. How long have we been driving?"

Louis glanced down at his watch. "About an hour. Hopefully we'll be getting to the military outpost soon. I can't imagine it's THAT far away." Bill nodded, settling back in his seat and shutting his eyes once more. "Just be sure to wake me gently when we do get there." He mumbled before dozing off again.

"I still can't believe we got picked up by the army." Francis mumbled to himself, shaking his head incredulously. "I just hope that they don't go looking into my past records. Might kick me out and leave me to the zombies." Zoey smiled at Francis, amused that he was worried the surviving population of humanity would be worried about whatever petty offenses he'd committed before this shitstorm had come down upon all of them. "They probably won't care. Besides, you've become pretty experienced at killing infected with that shotgun of yours."

Frances chuckled. "Heh, yeah. Those vampires never stood a chance."

"Zombies, Francis."

**Interchanging mind control, come let the**

**Revolution take its toll, if you could**

**Flick a switch and open your third eye, you'd see that**

**We should never be afraid to die, so come on**

Another half hour passed before the APC stopped. Louis nudged Bill awake, apparently in a gentle-enough manner so as not to spark another frenzied outburst from the old veteran. The back ramp to the APC lowered, and the two MPs who were driving waved them out.

"Hope the ride wasn't too uncomfortable. We drove as fast as we could."

Bill looked around, noting that they were in a field, with no outpost in sight, military or otherwise. He looked over at the closest MP and asked, "Son, is there a reason we stopped here, or are we having a picnic?" The MP chuckled for a moment before responding, "No sir. We have to stop a few miles out from the safety zone and radio in. HQ is very careful with any inbound personnel, whether it's on foot or in a military vehicle." He gave Bill an assuring smile. "Don't worry sir, this will only take a few minutes." The MPs quickly went about setting up a small, portable communications array. Within minutes, it was set up, and the MPs donned headsets, plugged themselves in, and radioed the military base.

"Raven's Nest, this is Sparrow Five, over. Yeah, we picked up those survivors who called for extraction from Evac Point Echo, over."

The survivors stood around, awkwardly waiting for the military to finish with its silly precautionary checklist. What were they expecting? Infected that could operate vehicles? Hell, they couldn't even operate a GUN. The fact that the MPs were looking over at them from time to time during the conversation wasn't helping, either.

"Affirmative, the survivors HAVE been in contact with the infected for an extended period of time, over."

"About a week, son. And we're damn tired of having to fend them off ourselves." Bill put in. The MP looked over at him, then focused on the radio conversation again.

"Yes sir, we read you clear on that, but what does it have to do with anything? They're survivors. Over. I…" He glanced over at the survivors again. Zoey shifted nervously from foot to foot. She didn't like the vibes she was getting from their half of the conversation. Not at all. "Yes sir. Understood. Over and out." The MPs took off their headsets and warily walked back to the survivors, careful to stop a few paces away from them. "There's… there's been a change of plans, fellas." Bills eyes narrowed dangerously. "Son, what in the HELL does that mean?" He was really wishing he hadn't left the vehicle unarmed.

Now it was the MPs that were fidgeting nervously. "Well, apparently it has something to do with your infection status." Louis was incredulous. "Bullshit! Do I look like one of them? We are DEFINITELY immune!" The MP shrugged. "It seems that some people can have the infection in their system without it manifesting itself. These "carriers" are able to transmit the infection to other people, causing non-immunes to turn, which would lead to mass chaos and destruction within the holdout."

"This is BULLSHIT. Can't you just have us live with other Carriers and Immunes or something?" Bill spat angrily. "That's just the thing." The MP responded. "We don't know who's what… until it's too late and we have infected on our hands. You can't come in. That's HQ's final stance. We're also going to have to keep your firearms, so that you don't try and attack us out of veng-hurk!"

In the blink of an eye, Francis had rushed forward and delivered a knuckle-strike to the throat of both MPs. While they were reeling from the sudden attack, the biker followed up with a pair of nasty hook shots, effectively knocking the MPs unconscious. "I HATE the goddamn army! C'mon guys, we're getting out of here."

**Rise up and take the power back, it's time that**

**The fat cats had a heart attack, you know that**

**Their time is coming to an end, we have to**

**Unify and watch our flag ascend, so come on**

Without even a backwards glance at the MPs, Francis made his way to the driver's seat of the APC. Upon arrival, he realized that the vehicle had been turned off, and he had no idea how to turn it on again.

"Looking for this?" Bill tossed a key to Francis, and took a seat next to him in the cab. "Zoey and Louis are in the back. Any idea where we're going?" Francis shrugged. "Anywhere but here. D'you think we should make for the coast? Grab some gas and supplies, and try to wait out this thing in the water for a while? See what it's like in a month or two?" Bill nodded. "Sounds like a good idea to me. It's a shame that the Slaters became infected. We sure could've used their boat for this. Plus, I kinda liked them." Bill looked out the window sadly, thinking back to when he had to put down their saviors when they started turning rabid.

That was behind them, though. Bill had to focus on what was happening now. For what seemed like the fifth time since this hell-on-earth began, his little band of survivors wasn't quite out of the woods yet. Francis started up the APC, and the stereo picked up where it had left off.

**They will not force us**

**They will stop degrading us**

**They will not control us**

**We will be victorious, so come on**

"I hate Muse."

A/N: Yes, I am aware that this song is not part of BHaR. That's why it's in the prologue. Yes, I'm also aware that the lyrics only loosely fit with the actions. Again, it's the prologue. The rest of the story should be a lot more interesting and song-attuned. That's why it's NOT the prologue. In any case, I hope you've found this little piece to be enjoyable. First up to bat next time is Take a Bow, though I plan on "adjusting" the chapter titles so that they are more zombie apocalypse-related.


	2. Take a Round

A/N: So I wasn't expecting start the first chapter this soon after putting up the Prologue, but my girlfriend is busy learning how to use the L4D map editor on my desktop, and my laptop doesn't really run games very well. It's just as well, I should get into the habit of writing often so I don't slack off as easily.

Take a Bow is, of course, produced and owned by Muse, and the L4D cast and setting is produced and owned by Valve.

~*~Take a Round~*~

**Corrupt**

**You corrupt**

**And bring corruption to all that you touch**

Bill looked around the port city his group was travelling through with a critical eye. They had abandoned the APC miles ago after it ran out of gas, and were forced to hump it to the shoreline so they could commandeer a boat and take to the safety of the water. But between here and there, they would undoubtedly have to fight their way through masses of infected, common and otherwise. He double-checked his ammo supply, ensuring that he had more than sufficient ammo for both his Assault Rifle and his handguns. He'd learned well enough from his previous "campaigns" through the city that it was far too easy to let your ammo run dry if you weren't careful. He glanced over at the other three.

Francis was in the rear, carrying his Auto Shotgun like it was his first-born child. He had always made sure it was impeccably clean, always ensuring that removing zombie gibs was his first order of business whenever they reached a safehouse. Bill had a feeling that Francis prided himself as the "last line of defense" for their little band. If anything came too close for comfort, a point-blank shotgun blast or two would take care of it before any real damage was done. This was especially true of tanks. If one of those was about to lay the hurt down on any of the other three, Francis would unload every shell he had loaded into the flesh of the hulking behemoth to draw its attention away from his friends.

Louis was a few paces behind Bill, loosely carrying his Submachine Gun in one hand and using the other to shield his eyes from the sun. More than once, Bill had managed to scavenge another Assault Rifle for Louis, but the man always turned down the new weapon. Something along the lines of growing attached to his current weapon of choice. Said he liked the fast fire rate and easy reload, or something silly like that. Bill wasn't going to push it, though. If the man liked his Submachine Gun, Bill certainly wasn't going to ruin his friend's optimistic mood by forcing him to upgrade. It was one of the things he'd learned in Vietnam: cooperate with your teammates, and you all live a little bit longer.

Lastly, he looked over at Zoey, her Hunting Rifle at the ready in case some foolish Smoker or Hunter decided to nab one of her friends. She was a crack shot with her beloved rifle, and they all knew it. The kid came from a wealthy family with a father who believed hunting would be a good hobby for his precious little girl. Bill decided that if he ever had the opportunity to meet this man, he would be getting as many free drinks as he desired from the old vet. Zoey's marksmanship had saved ALL of them on numerous occasions. She could drop a Smoker nabbing one of the guys in less than a second, and could safely pick a Hunter off anyone as long as they were in her line of sight. Bill could have sworn the frequency of Smoker attacks dropped dramatically after a few days of her reign of terror over them. Good thing, too. He hated them.

**Hold**

**You'll behold**

**And beholden for all that you've done**

KRAK!

Christ, Bill hadn't even noticed the long-tongued menace until after it let out its death cry. Chalk up one more to Zoey's abilities as a sniper. Sometimes, Bill wondered how well she would have fared in 'Nam with skills like that. Of course, he never toyed with the idea for more than a fleeting moment. He knew that no matter how good one was, no matter how cautious you were, survival in that war was a roll of the dice. A roll he would never let someone like Zoey take.

"Hey Bill. We've got a crowd of commons up ahead. Seems like they haven't noticed us yet." Louis took out one of his jury-rigged pipe bombs and gave the old man a questioning look. Bill shook his head. "Don't waste a perfectly good distraction tool on a simple aimless crowd when it could be put to better use during a high-pressure mob. No, we'll take them on with more conventional means." He turned the safety off on his Assault Rifle, knelt down, and lined it up with the nearest infected.

"Louis, take out the ones that come within thirty paces of us. Francis, you have the ones that come within ten. Zoey… keep that hunting rifle out in case Papa Boomer decides to pay us a visit, or any of the other specials, for that matter. Everyone ready?"

"Locked and loaded, old man." Francis let out a wry grin. He always loved getting down and dirty with the infected… especially when it involved showing off the raw stopping power of his shotgun. It never, ever got old. Bill nodded. "Alright, then. Let's get down to it." A quick depression of his finger, three shots and three reports from his rifle, and an exploding head was all it took to get the attention of the rest of the small horde. A cry went out and they all turned and ran pell-mell for the group of survivors.

**And spell**

**Cast a spell**

**Cast a spell on the country you run**

"Here they come!" Bill had come to decide that announcing the obvious arrival of the horde was Louis's way of mentally pumping himself and coping with the fact that a large group of deranged individuals were headed his way and fully intent on ripping him from limb-to-limb. But he wasn't thinking about that right now. Bill was systematically going from target to target, firing three-round bursts and taking out as many infected as he could at range before Louis and Francis had to step in.

Soon enough, however, the familiar _rata-tat-tat_ of Louis's gun was filling the air. It was at this point that Bill switched from careful, accurate shots to a more chaotic firing plan. Sure, he was more careful to ensure his shots didn't go completely wide. But he was now sticking to mowing them down right along with Louis. However, even their combined fire wasn't enough to completely halt the remaining horde. The discharge of Francis's shotgun was soon added to the afternoon's ambiance. Bill watched as a pair of zombies got within arm's length of his face, only to be blasted back again by the brute force of Francis's baby.

Predictably, the noise attracted the attention of a few Hunters, who figured the panic of a horde would be distracting enough for a band of survivors and allow for an easy kill. They obviously figured wrong, as they couldn't have known one of the survivors was hanging back and specifically scanning for any sight of their hooded figures. KRAK went Zoey's rifle once, KRAK went Zoey's rifle twice, and the remaining Hunter's smartened up and retreated to the safety of cover. Within a matter of minutes, the horde had been reduced to a pile of bodies, and the survivors incurred not one scratch. Bill stood up and checked their perimeter for any sneaking infected trying to catch them off-guard. "How's everyone's ammo looking?"

"I've got plenty, Bill."

"I only fired three shots to scare off a band of Hunters."

"Old man, I've got more shells than you know how to count to."

"I doubt that, Francis, but I'll take your word that you're fine on ammo. Let's move out, fellas."

**And risk**

**You will risk**

**You will risk all their lives and their souls**

Even after a week of fighting the infected, Bill never quite got over the fact that he was killing American civilians. True, they were sick, twisted civilians that would gladly kill him if given the chance, but it wasn't their fault that this… this… mutation had warped their spirit and bent them to its will. Whatever viral infection was directing them like puppets… THAT was the real monster. Bill felt like he was only killing the middleman… the messenger. But still, he knew it was kill or be killed, and that was the only thought that kept him sane through all this.

His party moved on through the town, examining buildings for supplies and clearing out the infected as they went. It was rather dull work, but they needed to find ammunition, food, and gasoline, in that order. Francis was the first to point out the police station up ahead, and they all agreed that would probably be their best bet for finding something useful. Francis kicked open the door to the station and swept his shotgun around the room, looking for any infected to blast.

"I don't see or hear any of them. Guess this place is pretty empty. D'you think some other survivors got here first and cleared the place of anything worthwhile?" Bill shrugged. "Still worthwhile to look around anyway. Let's spread out people, but don't stray too far. Let's not have any unwanted incidents because we got careless, alright?" They all nodded in affirmation and began searching for valuables.

Among other things, they searched filing cabinets, desks, lockers, and uniforms. They didn't find much, as they had expected, but Francis did turn up something unusual. He dropped a long, black, metal stick on the table so they could all have a look at it. Zoey's eyes immediately widened when she saw it. "Francis, WHERE did you find this?"

The biker raised an eyebrow, slightly confused by the girl's reaction. Nonetheless he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the room behind him. "In a locker over there. Why?" Zoey was practically giggling. "Because this is a tonfa." Zoey picked it up by the small handle sticking out from one end and twirled the tonfa forward and backwards a few time. "Tonfa are very good at bashing in skulls. Which means they're also very good at conserving ammunition." She stopped playing with the weapon and put it back on the table, smiling. "Got any more?"

**And burn, you will burn,**

**You will burn in hell, yeah you'll burn in hell**

**You'll burn in hell, yeah you'll burn in hell for your sins.**

The next couple of hours were a walk in the park for the party. Francis had indeed found several other tonfa where he'd found the first, and after a few minutes of instruction and practice, the four survivors set out again. Zoey kept her rifle out to pick off Special Infected, but the three men were essentially playing whack-a-zombie. At one point, they were spotted and attacked by a small horde that came rushing at them as if they had hell on their heels. Even so, Bill, Louis, and Francis simply waded through them, swinging their tonfa forward and back in wide arcs, killing a zombie or two with each blow and stumbling the rest, until there were none left.

Bill found it to be oddly satisfying. Here he was, making the foe lose where it was supposedly the strongest: hand-to-hand. Whatever mutation that had caused this infection was now stopped dead in its tracks because suddenly, Bill and his sortie had found a foolproof method of fighting back. Even though he was still killing innocents that were being controlled by the virus, Bill felt that it was better to kill them at arm's length rather than with a bullet to the head. It may be messier, but for Bill it was a way to say "suck it" to whatever sick, twisted, all-powerful entity that created the mutation in the first place.

They continued to search the city for valuables, finding little in the way of ammunition or weapons, but a good deal of unspoiled food. Bill was surprised, thinking that food would be the first thing to disappear in an apocalyptic scenario. People would stock up and try to ride it out, but their success at finding cereal, candy, and jerky said otherwise. More than that, the old man was amazed, astounded, that they had found a gas station, and that they had found available gas that they could use to fuel a felt almost as if he could relax for a little bit, casually dispatching infected and browsing the available selection of food for something he found to be to his liking. For the first time, he felt as if he could breathe easily.

**Ooohhh.**

**Our freedom is consuming itself,**

**What we will become is contrary to what we want**

**Take a bow…**

Bill had to hand it to whoever it was that made the infection… whoever it was that was directing the zombies and bending them to its iron will. He had to admit that this evil genius had picked a disturbingly perfect time to strike. Humanity was, as some would like to think, at its prime. Technology was cutting edge and ever advancing. People were living longer due to medical breakthroughs. Lives were made easier by a whole string of conveniences and contraptions. Communication and diplomacy had reached a global level, an instantaneous level. Humanity was almost at the peak… and then it all came toppling down.

Americans, falling into a rut of self-centered gluttony and caring most about the here-and-now, well… they sure weren't caring for much of anything anymore. All zombies were created equal, that's for sure. Sure, there might be a small, elite upper class of special infected, but they all shared the same desire for the complete eradication of humanity's surviving members, and they all shared the same end of a bullet between the eyes, as long as Bill was alive and kicking. At the very least, Bill hoped he was putting the mindless hosts out of their misery and suffering at the hands of the evil, infectious director.

But the complete and utter destruction of mankind… Bill doubted he would ever know exactly who opened Pandora's Box, or how it was even opened. Granted, he was no science buff, but an infection that could bring mankind to its knees seemed hardly possible. How could microscopic buggers possibly twist a man's mind, cause him to go rabid? Mother nature sure had some strange shit up her sleeves, but Bill was certain that not even she would come up with something this ridiculous.

**Death, you bring death**

**And destruction to all that you touch.**

**Pay, you must pay**

**You must pay for your crimes against the earth.**

Like subversive, creeping tendrils of malicious intent, the infection spread. However, it didn't just spread itself, like a common cold or the annual influenza. It brought with it panic and chaos. Bill still couldn't understand how so much chaos could be sewn in so little time. Two weeks, two goddamn weeks was all it took. No amount of government or military intervention was able to keep it under control. It just spread like wildfire, and the whole country went to hell in a handbasket. And that was just the US. Bill had no clue what was going on across the oceans, or even down south in Mexico and beyond. He didn't have high hopes though.

"Oh hell… guys? You hear that tank?"

That word. That one, single word snapped Bill out of his automated reverie. Tank. The one infected to rule them all. The epitome of everything the infectious director stood for. If ever there was an Alpha Prime of the infected, it would be the tank. More than anything that had gone down in this crapsack world, Bill knew that he would NEVER understand how anyone could mutate into one of those hulking behemoths. It just wasn't fair. It was like an elementary school playground. The tanks ruled the yard, and the little nerdy survivors didn't stand a chance.

Except not this time. A shadow of a grin drew itself across Bill's face.

"Hey Francis."

"Yeah Bill?"

Bill looked glanced over at the liquor store across the street. "Whaddya say you put together a little… Soviet somethin' somethin' for our friend Tank?"

Francis looked at Bill, then the liquor store, and then at the gas can strapped to Louis's back. A low, sadistic laugh started to flow out of his throat. "It would be my honor, old man. Louis, you're coming with me." The two of them walked off to the liquor store while Zoey stayed with Bill. She looked at him with a confused expression. "Soviet… somethin' somethin'?"

Bill chuckled. "Zoey, I KNOW you've been in this apocalypse long enough to know what a Molotov Cocktail is."

A look of embarrassed comprehension crossed Zoey's face as she realized just how dumb her question was. "Oh… yeah, those."

**Hex, feed the hex**

**Feed the hex on the country you love**

It was time to get even with that hulking, bullying turd-face. Zoey was right: Bill could hear him growling and huffing to himself off in the distance. The two of them laid low while they waited for Francis to finish with his homebrewed cocktail. Bill felt like a little kid again, making incendiary bombs for shits and giggles, and then throwing them in a dirt field like the stupid kid he was because he liked watching the fireworks that followed. Well, now it would be a bit more interesting. This time, he was justified. He'd make that little sucker burn real good. He was a big enough target, anyway.

A few minutes later, and Francis came back with Louis and their newly crafted grenade. Francis was all smiles, cocktail in one hand with the other outstretched towards Bill, waiting expectantly for the old man's lighter. "So do I get to burn this little cocksucker to the ground or what?" Bill paused for a moment. He wanted to be the one to light the tank. However, he could see the anarchist's gleam in Francis's eye, and he knew that the biker would enjoy doing the honors as much as he would, perhaps more. "Yeah, you do." Bill dug into one of his vest pockets, produced his lighter, and tossed it over to Francis.

**Beg, you will beg**

**You will beg for their lives and their souls.**

Hah. The infection wouldn't be claiming HIS band of brothers today, no sir. No matter how much faith the virus put in its star player, Bill was going to have the tank lit nice and bright, and then they were going to kite it like a man. The group made their way slowly, carefully towards the angry growling of the behemoth. No tonfa sticks were out now. Everyone was bringing their A-game weapon to this party, especially Francis. He had the REAL boomstick now.

"Hey! Big Guy! Get a load of this, you ass!" The Tank seemed to have heard Francis's taunt, as an angry cry came from the hulking, grumbling mass as it smashed its way out of a nearby building and into the street…

… and almost within the blink of an eye, Francis had lit the Molotov and sent it hurling towards the Tank. Bill's eyes sparkled with pride as Francis landed a direct hit on the tank and it went up in flames.

**Yeah,**

**Burn, you will burn,**

**You will burn in hell, yeah you'll burn in hell**.

The angry tank suddenly became furious. It let out a blood-curdling roar as its hulking, flaming frame charged towards the survivors. They instantly scattered, forcing the tank to choose one target while the others helped the fire in its quest to kill the tank. It went after Louis, who was much faster than the fleshy fireball. Bill smiled as he discharged bullet after bullet into the Tank, its roaring cries echoing down the street and throughout the town.

It wasn't long before charred skin began flaking off of the Tank, leaving a smoldering trail behind the mutated bully. Its death wasn't far off. Bill kept pouring it on, reloading with elegant speed and continuing his onslaught against the monster. He was in the zone. Suddenly, the mutant hulk turned its sights on Bill, who was a good twenty paces away. It lumbered as fast as it could, trying to get a good swing in at the old man. Bill could see the pain and suffering in its face, behind the wall of flames, as it tried desperately to reach its target. Bill reloaded, lined up his rifle with the infected's face, and grinned.

"Take a round, you goddamn sunovabitch."

Three bullets and four seconds later, and the flaming mass was brought to its knees ten feet away from where Bill was standing.

**You'll burn in hell, yeah you'll burn in hell,**

**Burn in hell, yeah you'll burn in hell for your sins.**

A/N: Whew… that was fun. And I'm happy to announce that I typed out that last period as my clock struck twelve, which means I technically made my own silly little deadline of Wednesday. Not that anyone really cares about that, but it makes me feel better, even if I did submit it as an update on Thursday. Details, people… details. I'm looking at the big picture, here. Anyway, enjoy.


End file.
